


silently the senses abandon their defenses

by poludeuces



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, M/M, this is porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poludeuces/pseuds/poludeuces
Summary: Christine had been strict: if he was having a bad dream, Erik was to wake him up.But this did not seem like a bad dream.
Relationships: Fujimaru Ritsuka/Phantom of the Opera | Assassin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	silently the senses abandon their defenses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiniNephthys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniNephthys/gifts).



> hello! some things as per usual:
> 
> \- this has somnophilia. the sex doesn't start until after ritsuka wakes up. but phantom does kiss his body while he's having a wet dream.   
> \- yandere elements cause this is phantom  
> \- second ascension best ascension don't @ me

Christine had been rather explicit with his request: if he was having a bad dream, Phantom could wake him up.

His nights were often restless, haunted by the events of previous singularities. Erik understands and never questions, running his hands carefully through Christine’s hair and singing a soft tune until his breaths settle and he can return to sleep. He never minds, for this is nothing at all. Anything for his master.

He flutters by the bed and pulls his face into a pout. Christine is definitely stirring in his sleep, but well…

His face was hot and he takes laboured breaths. Sweat made his t-shirt stick to his skin, defining his collarbones. When he turned in his sleep, his shirt rode up, revealing the softness that Erik craved to touch, and the small slopes of his muscles. 

And he’s calling out his name in his sleep. “Erik,” he mumbles from those tantalizing lips. He had often pondered the feeling of them on his own. A simple wish, one that he knew was out of reach - his face was one that made children scream and women faint. Why would anyone wish to get closer?

Yet he draws in to study his master’s expression. Erik is familiar with his night terrors. Christine shakes in his sleep like he is gripped with cold. His expression changes to one of fear or pain (never something Erik likes to see - it hurts him to see Christine in pain). He wishes to kiss away the names that he screams out, to fight the demons who dare to make him weep. Yet, he is no man beyond love and hate. He sticks to what his master has asked of him: a soft touch to the shoulder, quiet whisperings to ground him, and every song he could sing to carry him back to sleep.

This time was different. Christine’s face seemed…pleasant? It certainly wasn't a deep slumber, but he smiled. A soft whine escaped, “Erik, please.”

Erik brought his fingers up and clicked them together. Should he wake him up? While it didn’t appear to be a _bad_ dream, Christine had said to do so.

His name slips from his angel’s lips once again. Well, he was calling out for him. If only he had a bit more context - he felt out of his depth. Would Christine be upset for rousing him? The smile on his lips and the tiny gasps definitely pointed to him enjoying himself. 

Erik reaches forward. His fingers gently graze his face and cup his cheek. 

In his sleep, Christine furrows his brow, “Erik?”

He swallows hard and nods, before he remembers that he cannot see his face, “Yes, I’m here.”

Perhaps he has heard him in his dreams, as his smile widens into bliss. Erik’s heart hurts. Even if those wicked women haunted him and stuck to his sides, sliding into his sheets to stalk him - they would never be privy to these moments. This was for Erik, only. Was he deserving of it? He dares to slide his thumb over those pretty lips, relishing in the softness. Oh how lovely he was, how sweet it would be to dine upon them, to swallow up his music with each gasp and moan.

Christine’s mouth moves against his thumb, threatening to swallow the finger whole. Erik draws back quickly - he did not wish to accidentally slice his master’s throat in his sleep! He could not even begin to imagine what hell he would send himself to if he damaged his angel’s vocal chords. 

Yet, when he pulls away, Christine whines in response. Erik furrowed his brows further. He returns his hand to his cheek and gasps as his angel’s smile returns. His heart beat faster. It was amazing that Christine did not wake up due to how loud it hit his chest.

“Erik, please,” he calls out for him again in a choked moan. His voice was too kind for a name as dastardly as his own. Yet, he cannot deny how much he savours each time Christine calls for him, knowing that his name is the only one that drips with so much want. This phantom is the only one he trusts with having the doors open when the nightmares crash in.

His face is hot - were his fingers cooling him down? Maybe he was suffering from a fever, not a bad dream. Erik floats above his bed and cups his cheeks in his palms, and Christine sighs. Oh, this angle was dangerous - if he wished, he could simply lean in and kiss -

Erik’s thoughts are abruptly cut short with Christine moving underneath him. He becomes acutely aware of the real issue. 

The sheets slip, revealing bare legs and restrictive boxers.

And most important of all - a quite _aroused_ state.

The puzzle pieces seemed to slot into place. Of course - the flustered face, the sweet moans. 

And his name tumbling from his mouth.

Suddenly, Erik’s face feels hot. He swallows thick.

No, he should definitely not wake him up, then. From the quick glance at Christine’s crotch informs him of how much he must have been enjoying himself. If the dream was this nice, then it would be best to leave him be. Erik smiles, yes, a nice dream amongst a sea of troubling nights.

Yet, when he withdraws his hands from his master’s face, the way he calls out ‘Erik’ is far too divine to be ignored.

What kind of servant would he be if he retreated from his master’s beck and call?

What kind of composer would he be if he did not write to his Christine’s voice?

So, he carefully settles down onto the bed, on his knees to trap him between his legs. Christine squirms in his sleep, his breathing hot as Erik’s hands move down his neck, tracing his collarbones through his shirt and running down his sides. He’s careful not to rip his top, his fingers sliding under and brushing the skin underneath. 

Christine’s chest is painted with scars, but to compare them to his own would be to compare a children’s drawing to the ceiling of an opera house. Each bears a story of courage and determination, and he is careful to leave soft kisses to each as if to worship them. His story requires many stanzas, and if he may, Erik wishes to sing his praises until his throat was raw.

He wonders if the mask on his skin feels unpleasant. Erik pauses to unclasp the mask from his face and places it on the bed next to him. His hair falls to hide the imperfection.

(Albeit, Christine has never shied away from him, even when his mask had broken from battle, shattered on the ground like fine china, his monstrous visage on full view - )

“Erik?” Christine’s voice pulls his attention away from his navel, and he looks up at his master, awake and up on his elbows. Erik’s eyes widen in shock. “Did something happen?” His voice drops low as he tries to study him, “Was I having a bad dream?”

Erik could lie. While his current position was quite...telling, he could simply say he had seen some suspicious activity and wanted to get to the root of the issue. It wasn’t one-hundred percent wrong, either.

But those eyes were captivating. The way Christine looked at him - this would be his, alone. 

And well, the way Christine’s erection brushed his chest did feel good. Certainly he must have been aware of the fact he was hard.

“No,” Erik’s voice is soft as he moves further down, “I would rather say you were having a beautiful dream, Christine.” 

He could easily rip his boxers to shreds with his knives, but he places his hands on the hem and looks back up at him expectantly. “I came rushing as you were calling out my name.”

Christine’s face flushes deep red, like a crimson tango, and the desire to kiss those warm cheeks overwhelms him. “I-I was talking?”

Erik tuts his lips, “Only sweet words.” He is curious, of course, he wishes to hear every excruciating detail, to keep them in his mind for lonely nights, knowing that Christine only feels comfortable discussing his perversions with him. He tucks that idea away however. “I am here now.” He presses a kiss to his hip bone and Christine moans. “As requested.”

Christine sighs and falls back into the pillows. “Erik, please.”

And he is so happy to please.

Erik slides his boxers off and smiles as Christine’s cock springs free. To see him so hard, so ready to go - and the continued hardness after seeing his disgusting face. Perhaps it is the cover of night that hides his face. 

Night only sharpens the senses, after all.

The sense of hearing. The desperate moans that tumble from his lips and the way Christine says Erik. It’s far too beautiful for his cursed name, but it is his own. He begs for Erik - to move faster, to take him in his mouth deeper. He compliments him and Erik replies in kind by hollowing out his cheeks, smiling at the way he moans. Louder and louder, his Christine sings for him.

The sense of touch. The hardness in his mouth, the way his cock twitches against his tongue as he runs his mouth over the head. Christine’s fingers in his locks. He’s careful not to pull too hard on his scalp, or to push him too far down, but the tug on his hair makes him move his head up and down faster. Christine wants him, and if he wishes to dictate the pace, then he shall be his conductor. He savours the fullness, and the way it pushes to the back of his throat. 

The sense of taste, when precum dribbles out of Christine’s cock. It tells him that he is doing a good job, and he licks it up greedily. To be able to taste him is more than enough to make Erik’s dick strain in his pants, and he moans as he runs his tongue along the vein, eager for more.

He hums when Christine moans, “Ah, Erik, I’m close.” As much as he wishes to pull himself off and tell him to do so, the delightful tug on his hair as Christine begins to fuck his throat is too good to pass up.

Erik’s tongue tries its best to keep up with his thrusting, and he moans each time his nose pressed flush against his crotch. He looks up at his master, eyes closed in pleasure and face pulled into a moan.

He’s the only one who can see Christine like this. It’s almost enough to make Erik come undone.

Christine pulls him off and cums on his face. Erik is a little upset - he would have preferred to swallow him completely - but his fingers wipe off his face and he licks them clean. 

“T-thank you, Erik,” Christine says, brushing Erik’s hair behind his ear. 

He does not back away at his ugly visage. His eyes are filled with love, even without the use of his charm.

Erik pulls himself off of his lap and kisses him strong and deep, moaning as Christine’s tongue slides into his mouth. 

When they pull away, he carefully returns his knived fingers to cup his face, “Anything for you, Ritsuka.”

**Author's Note:**

> as part of a trade!!! please go read the fic mini wrote for me it's so good
> 
> title of course comes from 'the music of the night'   
> @avicebro on both tumblr/twitter


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